


Causatum

by amuk



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Aftermath, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Rebuilding, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:31:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a long road back to normality. There's more to rebuild than just buildings</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Causatum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adelheida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelheida/gifts).



> So, this was supposed to be a Royai on how they somehow went from, “OMG, YOU LOVE ME?” to “We’re in a relationship.”
> 
> Instead, this beast of a story came into existence and I’ve decided to dissect it into a drabble series. It should (hopefully) end up as Royai—I don’t quite know what this child of mine is going to end up doing.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this.

“First lieutenant,” a soldier calls, moving a jagged rock as he speaks. “There’s a survivor here as well.”

 

She rushes over, after getting another soldier to call for medical aid. The air smells lightly of smoke, the last embers of fire dying in the bright morning light. Broken glass crunches under her feet, a stream of yells in the air. In the mass of confusion born at the end of the battle, only one truth remains: the military.

 

And even that truth is just a facade.  There are fractions now, obvious and clear-cut where a whole army used to stand. No longer are the power-plays quiet and behind the scenes, each general trying to grab the open seat at the top for their own. The soldiers around her are not ones she would trust by choice, but trust she must. 

 

There are too few left that can command.

 

“He’s still breathing,” the soldier speaks as he digs, both hands lifting rubble off the body. She can see a man below, patches of bright green cloth and dust-covered flesh appearing between the broken wall that covers the body. Fortunately upper torso is clear, blood staining his shirt a dirty brownish-red. Kneeling next to the man, she lowers her head to his lips, her ear no more than a centimetre away.

 

A soft breeze tickles her, confirming his life. Glancing at the wall covering his legs, she signals two more men to come join them.

 

“We can save this one.”


	2. Fragments

Most of the city was intact, the civilians huddling within their homes safe and unaware of exactly what happened. Hours after the battle, weary and fearful, they crept out to the empty streets. A dark sky greeted them, the neighbourhood fully intact, and it was almost as though nothing had occurred.

 

Even that odd moment where everyone woke up lying on the ground, their limbs strewn against the cold floor, even that seemed almost like a dream. Snippets of conversation made it through the static-filled radio, small updates on the situation. It was only the patrolling soldiers, scouting the roads for damages, that could tell them anything.

 

-x-

The news:

 

“The Führer died.”

 

“Mustang led a revolt.”

 

“I don’t know—I was only guarding the out posts.”

 

“Headquarters were destroyed.”

 

“He lives, still! I saw it; Bradley took them all on and pushed his way on.”

 

“There were these monsters, not even a bullet could kill them.”

 

“It’s classified information.”

 

“I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t know if your son is still alive.”


	3. Survivors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there will be a lot of filler-like chapters.

“This is the last sector,” Breda reported back through the two-way radio, bone-tired and heavy. There were too many bodies within the military compound, some deaths more brutal than others. Bullets were one thing, but bodies torn apart, blood and guts streaming the floor as their faces stare up, twisted in horror.

 

And to think it was their generals that unleashed those beasts. A greenhorn nearby is retching, panting heavily after each turn of his stomach.

 

No survivors here either. Fortunately it was mostly the military compound hit, few civilian houses taking damage from the attacks. Fortunately, or it would be him in that corner hurling his breakfast from the sight of murdered children.

 

“The building is mostly intact.” Only the smell was there, the corpses decomposing slowly as the days passed.

 

Turning off the radio, he signalled the others to leave. Rubbing his eyes, he stifled a yawn as they left. Tired as he was, he didn’t want to sleep yet.

 

The images of those broken bodies would only be clearer when he closed his eyes.


	4. Search and Rescue

“Leave it to me!” Armstrong, even now, remains Armstrong: strong, forceful, and enthusiastic.

 

Punching his hands against the leaning walls, he groans softly as he manipulates the concrete and brick. Extra material gathers and fills in the cracked material, shooting down to the ground in spikes at times to add support to the structure.

 

Sweating as he keeps his hands attached to the wall, he focuses hard for the first time in years. Alchemy was never this hard before. A simple hit should have done it.

 

But then, it has been a long time since he’s used alchemy for anything other than fighting. It’s different, more subtle, and he lets go after a few minutes.

 

The Elric brothers would be more useful here, but they had already left, forced onto the first train home despite their protests.

 

Such good, brave boys. 

 

“Is it safe?”

 

“For a short time.” He remains beside the wall, ready to resupport it if need be. Around him corporals run into the building, searching for survivors and anything of importance.  This building used to hold records, and soldiers are already coming out with papers piled in their arms.

 

Out of the corner of his eyes he can see sparks of lightning, glowing lights signaling alchemy at work.  Seven. Eight. Nine, tops.

 

Unsurprisingly, most of the alchemists in the military were only good with aggressive, attack-based alchemy. There were few alchemists in the army in the first place, fewer still that had defensive or manipulation abilities. All of them were here in the remains of HQ, trying to stabilize the broken buildings.

 

The entire area would have to be cleared later, rebuilt from scratch.

 

“I found someone!” A corporal walks out, shouldering a limping, wounded man, his uniform torn and bloodied. She carries him to the medics, and it’s more than enough for Armstrong to smile.

 

“Sir, are you okay?” Another corporal asks him, startled by the tears streaming down the Major’s face.

 

He nods, bringing in the young man for a hug. “It’s beautiful to find life.”


	5. Hope

It’s six days since she’s taken a shower. Hawkeye smells like dust and death, a layer of sweat coating her. Her body is weary, aching, and she just wants to home and sleep.

 

“Are we done in this sector, ma’am?” A soldier asks her as they sit on a pile of rubble, eating a quick, short meal before they return to their work. His face is grim but so is everyone else’s. It’s been six days since they started.

 

There is little hope for finding survivors now.

 

Pulling out her own map, her sectors marked in a bright red, she gives a brief nod. “We have only one sector left, private.” Opening a marker, she crosses out the patch she’s in, another big X with no one found in it.

 

The last sector is a small one, remote and with the least damage. Looking up at the sun, Hawkeye estimates the time to be around one in the afternoon. One way or another, the searching will be done today.


	6. White Noise

He quietly reads the piece of paper first, taking in all the numbers and tallies. The death toll decreased, and somewhere out there were a few men who had returned from the dead.

 

In two hours, the number would increase again, as people thought to be alive were found dead.

 

It’s not something Fuery dwells on much. In this small, cramped room, with only his communication equipment to keep him company, there were far too many messages being sent across a broken system to think too hard about one message or another.

 

At least he isn’t alone in this task. Looking across the hall, he can see another person hunched over a mike. Through the wall he can hear the sounds of clicking and voices repeating information as quickly and clearly as possible.

 

Switching a knob to the right frequency, he waits a few seconds for the static to clear up.

 

“Update on the search and rescue teams. In sector one....”


	7. Radio Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to make this easier for me. I’m dividing things up into short mini-arcs. This is the last part of the “Riza is a rescuer!” arc. And the next part will focus on Mustang for the week.

She doesn’t see Mustang in a week.  Hasn’t heard his voice, complaining about work and how much he wants to run away from it all. Hasn’t caught a hint of his short black hair or even seen the smallest spark of his fingertips before a fire starts.

 

It’s strange. Different. Riza hasn’t been away from him for so long since she got assigned to his unit. Almost every day had been spent either following his orders or giving him them. Even when she was with Bradley, she still heard from him, in encrypted messages and secret meetings.

 

And now she had radio silence for a week.

 

Riza’s days are busy, her nights dreamless, and it’s only now, when she’s settled on her bed and petting Black Hayate that she even realizes this. Her wet hair curls around her shoulders as she lies down and stares at the ceiling, Hayate crawling up to her shoulder to curl beside her head. 

 

All she knows about his whereabouts were from fragments caught during meals, listening to the updates Fuery gave out.  Mustang is a hero, Mustang is calming people down, Mustang is...

 

Riza can’t remember most of it. And that surprises her.

 

She hasn’t thought about Roy in a week. She doesn’t know what to think of that.


End file.
